


Lost Tags and Wormy Lure

by HapSky



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Fishing, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapSky/pseuds/HapSky
Summary: Dave found another dog tag of one of his Hunters and wants to return it to the deceased owner’s family. Navyth wants to catch this fish.





	Lost Tags and Wormy Lure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my uni seminar about fanfiction (yes, fanfic studies are a Thing and I still can't believe that either)
> 
> Also written for the same seminar:
> 
> [What If](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033422) (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)  
[About Toads and Cats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033584) (Harry Potter)  
[Not Surprised](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033311) (Red Riding Hood)

Well, Dave is a very realistic type of guy. No sugar coating things, no polite pretense. He doesn’t exactly like being this serious, or this somber, but where some jobs are hard on the body and some hard on the soul–his is both. Collecting and returning lost dog tags of fallen fellow Hunters never has been part of his dream career, but when he first heard they just remained where their owner had died? And when he then first started hunting down the vile creatures that had teared his comrades apart, searching for the tags and bringing them back so the families left behind would at least get a little peace of mind upon receiving them? When he’s been  _ thanked _ for returning the tags–how was he supposed to just stop? His job is hard on him, in every way, but there’s nothing he’d rather do instead. No one who would do this job if he weren’t doing it, either. So yes, Dave is a very realistic type of guy. Serious and somber.

When Dave travels all the way to River Wennath to return a Hunter’s dog tag to their family, when he gets off his truck and heads towards the camping ground near the river, his steps are heavy with the weight of yet another death message resting on his shoulders. His dog seems chipper, though. It’s been a while since their travels had led them to such a nice place–no muddy marshlands or hot and dry deserts, but healthy earth and fresh grass, groves of birch trees scattered around, with the river’s clear water gurgling nearby. It’s peaceful, even if there are some dark clouds looming in the distance promising rain for the night. Dave is happy at least his dog is enjoying nature with a light heart and cheerfulness in her spirit.

He sighs. He can see the fisherman in the distance, hustling around the tent. However long he might be doing this job already, he’ll never overcome the unpleasant feeling of not knowing just exactly what to say to the bereaved once he’s actually standing right in front of them.

Navyth, to Dave’s demise though, is a very positive kind of guy. Here as well, no sugar coating things or polite pretense, but instead of Dave’s serious and somber attitude Navyth’s is of a calm and content kind. Yeah, life sometimes just does that where it’s all shitty and stuff, but it doesn’t have to be. Things are as they are, and if one can’t change them, it’s best to learn how to accept them. Navyth has learned a long time ago. So when Dave tells him he’s found his brother’s dog tag? He can’t change anything about that now, can he.

“Well, that’s swell,” Navyth says and closes the bag he’s been packing. “Haven’t seen him since we were guppies.”

“I’m sorry,” Dave says, because it’s true, but also because it’s just a good thing to say when one doesn’t know what to say. His dog sniffs at the bag and Navyth gently pushes her nose away with a friendly pat to the head.

“Just wormy lures for fish, furred fella.” Navyth stands up, picks up his bag and rod, and nods towards the river. “Needa catch that whooper this time, buddy. Has slipped past me often enough, I tell ya.” Dave slowly nods, dog tag still in his outstretched hand. He’s confused, but Navyth is already trotting away humming a tune to himself. The dog follows him–she might not have gotten any worms, but maybe this friendly human will share some fish?

So Dave follows, as well. Sits down on the rocky riverside and watches as Navyth goes about his fishing business. His dog falls asleep on his lap after a few hours of waiting and recasting the line a couple times. Dave observes the water, then observes the clouds. They’re getting darker. Dave looks at the dog tag in his hands. Does Navyth really not care about his brother? Dead as he may be? Or does he simply need a bit to come around the fact his brother is gone for good? Dave wonders and wonders, until his mind is pleasantly void of these irritating thoughts.

“So he’s been busy huntin’ nasty crawlies, yeah?” Navyth asks. Dave hadn’t noticed he had dozed off with eyes wide open, staring into the distance. Navyth has started packing away his fishing gear.

Dave clears his throat, it’s gone scratchy during his nap. “Yeah,” he says then, rubbing some dirt off the metal tags. “’s what Hunters do. Help the common folk with daemons. Track down feisty wildlife and keep ’em in check. It’s kill or be killed, though…”

Navyth smiles at him and claps his shoulder with a hearty pat. “’m sorry for ya.”

“For me…?” Dave doesn’t like the feeling of being thanked for delivering this kind of depressing news, even if it might solve some questions about what’s happened to a missing person. He doesn’t like it, but he’s used to it. He’s not used to being the one receiving condolence, however.

“Yer a Hunter, yeah? There’s many fish out there, many people. ’s still hard losin’ one you’ve been in a swarm with–losin’ one that’s been doin’ just the same job ya did. Makes life seem kinda unfair, ain’t it? Name’s Navyth, by the way,” he says and makes his way back to the campsite.

“Dave.”

“My pleasure. Ya like grilled trout?”

Dave has never had grilled trout. “Probably?” Food is food, right?

Navyth starts humming again and the first raindrops fall. Camping is no fun while it’s raining, but they manage to eat and seek shelter inside the tent in time before getting soaked through. Grilled trout is tasty, and friendly Navyth shares with the dog as well. The river’s steady murmur merges with the storm’s screeching. It’s loud, through the tent’s thin walls. But it seems sturdy and steadfast, and it’s warm inside.

“He’s got a daughter,” Navyth tells him. Dave looks to his left where the other lies, staring up at the tent with a ghost of a smile on his chapped lips. It could also just be his normal facial expression, like Dave’s almost-scowl is his normal facial expression. “She’s a lil sunflower, that girl. Made it to Galdin, ‘s cookin’ up the best seafood paella there is.”

“I’m sorry,” Dave says again. He’s had the same fate like that girl–a father lost to this land’s crueler side.

“‘s what happens. You’ve lost more than I did.”

Dave isn’t sure if Navyth is still talking about his brother, or something else. He has yet to give back these dog tags. He’s held many of them in his hands, for a limited amount of time each. He has yet to find his father’s tags.

Maybe, Dave thinks, it’s best to not question all of today too much. It’s a fisherman and a hunter, in a tent during a storm. His dog is contently snoring on his right side, Navyth has begun snoring on his left. Maybe, Dave thinks, he should just start snoring as well.

**Author's Note:**

> First time trying my hands at writing dialect, pls let me know if I fucked up somewhere and I'll correct it!
> 
> Thank you for reading ( ´ ◡ ` )


End file.
